


Just yesterday

by The_Ol_Razzle_Dazzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Psychological Drama, voldemort is obsessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ol_Razzle_Dazzle/pseuds/The_Ol_Razzle_Dazzle
Summary: "Immortality, a fate worse than death. "- Edgar A. ShoaffThat was the truth, even if the Dark Lord couldn't see it.Harry knew that soon this obsession would drive the man deeper into insanity and even deeper into despair.He couldn't help him any longer.It was his fate to be alone.





	Just yesterday

His tired eyes left the unwritten paperwork that was sitting in front of him waiting to be done to instead fall on the figure that was standing next to the sole window of his study. He could tell the boy’s mind wasn’t there by the way his stare seemed to be unfocused and lost, not really admiring the view that was outside.

He could tell the other was daydreaming.

It wasn’t the first time he had caught him daydreaming. He was usually found staring outside windows, eyes lost in whatever wild beautiful fantasy he was thinking at the moment. Even he didn’t dare interrupt him when he was in this state. He wouldn’t even bulge when being spoken to, much like a statue. Too lost in his own world to care about the real one.

He stayed watching the boy’s figure a bit longer. He looked as if he was glowing, with the light coming from the window falling right on him. His face unchanged, still youthful after all these years, as if his aging had stilled at the age of 22. His arms were folded in front of his chest and he could see it rising up and down as he breathed lightly, his thin legs making him lean towards the window’s frame which he currently balancing on. His face almost colliding with the cold surface. If the glass wasn’t there, he was sure to fall from how close he was. Of course that wouldn’t happen, seeing as nothing that would cause harm was meant to touch this boy. He wouldn’t allow it.

Dull green eyes finally turned to look back into his and he couldn’t be happier. Even if he tried he couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face as soon as their gazes met. Harry used to never stare back at him, no matter how intense his stare got. That started to change a few months back, when Harry looked directly at him for the first time since he had been there. The Dark Lord was very pleased. He hated it when the boy ignored him. It made him feel unwanted, as if the boy wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

His joy didn’t last long as three loud knocks were heard from the other side of the large black wooden door, interrupting their eye contact as the boy quickly turned to face the door instead, his eyes full of curiosity, awaiting to see who would walk through it.

Voldemort felt himself hold back a sigh as he motioned with his hand to unlock and open the large door, letting whoever had the guts to bother him in. The man standing behind it quickly made his way into the room, not even sparing a glance at the boy who followed his every move with his eyes, as he kneeled with difficulty in front of his office desk, head bowed.

“My Lord.” The man greeted and slightly raised his head to face his master, who didn’t look pleased with his presence in the room. He decided it would be best to make his report a quick one, not wanting to suffer the consequences of an upset Dark Lord.

“Rodolphus, there better be an important reason for you to interrupt my work.” his red eyes bore into the kneeling old man in front of him.

The man shuddered underneath his stare and Voldemort couldn’t help but grin. It was always very amusing to see how much fear he could still raise in the hearts of people, even his most trusted ones. No matter how many years passed, none would dare defy him. The head of the Lestrange family knew better than to make his Lord irritated, knowing that he’d get punished for it so he started quickly laying down the information he had.

Voldemort had leaned back on his chair, his eyes fixed on the man, his ears instantly blocking the sound of the man talking. He already knew some of the stuff Rodolfus was telling him anyways. Ever since he won the war 30 years ago, and took over the Wizarding World of Britain the reports of his Death Eaters started to get repetitive. More people of the rebellion caught and imprisoned, more mudbloods and rebels killed, more people supporting the new regime out of fear, the Dark Lord was aware of all of these.

As time passed, all of his Inner Circle started to age and slowly lose what made them powerful, even if their Master still stood proud and strong. Rodolphus now was an old man, with gray hairs and wrinkled limps. The head of the Lestrange family was slowly losing the light of life in his eyes. He would soon have to get replaced by the new generation. Voldemort was a merciful Lord after all, but he couldn’t grand immortality to other’s even if they were his most loyal. Replacing them was his only choice.

“…we also saw some suspicious movement from the Weasley family, but nothing has been proven yet, we doubt it’s anything of importance.”

Voldemort’s attention was now grasped. The Weasleys had fought against him for many years even after the battle but after the deaths of the father and most of the sons, with the exception of Percy Weasley who joined the regime after the end of the war, they stopped their connections with the rebellion and had pleaded their loyalty to him. He didn’t believe them for one second but he also couldn’t waste more magical blood. It would just be a waste. “The youngest daughter who got married into the Zabini bloodline had her third child last year, their first boy is already at his sixth year at Hogwarts, I heard that thankfully he hasn’t been affected by his mother’s mudblood-loving ideas, and is instead ready to join your circles once he graduates.” At that the Death Eater smiled, the idea of kids of traitors being members of the regime their family fought so hard against was very amusing.

“I assure you that not even the Weasleys are dump enough to lose the high status they have now...” Rodolphus said and moved on to another topic of his report but Voldemort stayed thinking about this new information.

His eyes slipped once more, away from the man in front of him and on to the figure of the boy who had been silently listening to the news and had now seated himself on the large emerald chair, close to the window, who had previously been in the center of his attention. His eyes were expressionless but Voldemort could see the way his hands were wrapped tightly around his upper chest as if he was trying to find some comfort in himself, his breathing had gotten heavier and his body had started to slightly shake back and forth.

The boy used to get like this when news about anyone he previously knew came. The Dark Lord couldn’t help but smile at this. The thought of the boy getting his feelings crashed its time he learned about a new death of a loved one was almost euphoric. He never looked as vulnerable and weak as he did on these times. He never looked as delicious. Voldemort found himself wanting to wrap his arms around that shaky form, only to feel it shake harder.

He still remembered how distraught the boy had been at the news of his mudblood friend’s and Weasley boy’s deaths. They had been caught somewhere in a Romanian forest 4 years after the war ended. He was kept alive as he was one of the few Weasley kids who had survived the war and the snatchers that were chasing them after the end of the war. Voldemort couldn’t kill more pureblooded men as he needed the creation of more heirs for his new regime.

The boy had of course tried to save his mudblood girlfriend but he was too late as she was shredded into pieces by one of the werewolves that were in his rank. After that he was placed in Azkaban for rehabilitation till he was ready to produce an heir. He heard the boy had killed himself in an attempt to escape his prison cell, many called it heroic, Voldemort called it a suicide.

Harry had screamed and cried till he couldn’t speak no more. He could still remember how the boy would roll and twirl on the floor screaming, his head between his hands, nonstop water leaking from his red and puffy eyes. He was ashamed to confess that no matter what he tried he couldn’t get a hold on Harry, or touch him at all as his magic stunned whoever tried to approach him.

The whole tantrum found an end in ten hours, when he couldn’t move no more. Ten hours of nothing but unholy screams and screeches leaving the boys mouth, till all he could do was cough up blood, leaving puddles of warm thick red all over the floor around him. His boy had collapsed on the floor, his limps spread on the ground in unnatural angles, his breathing almost nonexistent. He had passed out from exhaustion and loss of blood. At least that’s what the healers he hired told him.

Harry took a whole year to rest. He was in a comatose position, too weak to move but strong enough to live. The Dark Lord wasn’t pleased with how long his recovery was taking but the healers had said that the boy wouldn’t make it otherwise. They said there was very little hope to begin with. Voldemort thought that was pure rubbish. His precious was stronger than that. He wouldn’t leave him alone. But he waited. Waited for the day his precious would wake up and join him again in their everyday routine, in their bed, in conquering the world together.

When he saw Harry again, his previously bright eyes held a dull stare, as if all the light had left them. It was from that day 26 years ago that the boy had stopped looking at him, talking to him or displayed any emotion at all. It displeased him to no end. He wanted those bright eyes, full of anger, hatred and lust to look at him and be focused on him all the time. But nothing he could do would bring that brightness in Harry’s emerald eyes.

There were only two times between these 26 years when he showed genuine emotion again. The first was at the mention of Neville Longbottom’s tragic death 6 years ago. The Dark Lord personally loathed that boy as he had managed to kill some of his Inner Circle and other loyal Death Eaters before they eventually captured and killed him.

Harry had been silently crying all day, mourning his brave fallen friend. Voldemort could swear he also saw the boy give him a cocky smile as he learned that Neville had managed to take with him the Carrows, Dolohov and Avery as well as other nameless Death Eaters. It was true that the Longbottom boy had caused him a lot of trouble.

The other time was at the announcement of Luna Lovegood’s wedding. The boy had been wary at first but after learning the name of her husband and how the marriage wasn’t arranged he had been unable to hide his glee. He seemed to care a lot about these girl’s happiness and well-bring so the Dark Lord made sure to mention her name from time to time ,trying to get a reaction out of Harry.

Now once again, Harry stayed showing signs of raw emotion, his mask of complete disinterest falling off.

Voldemort was aware that he and the Weasley girl had been together for some time, but he honestly couldn’t see why he reacted this badly. Getting married into an important family was the best option for her and her family if they wished to survive, yet Harry acted as he had just been informed about her cruel murder.

“Are you perhaps scared for that woman? ” he asked, his blood-shot eyes focusing on the other. Harry just stared back at him with dull, tired eyes, not a word leaving his shut closed lips. No matter what Voldemort asked him, no matter how hard he tried talking to him, he would never let a sound escape that mouth of his. It annoyed the older man to no end but he couldn’t find a way to make it happen. Even the Cruciatus curse didn’t work on that stubborn boy of his.

“...Pardon my Lord?” the voice of Rodolphus cut through his thoughts like a knife, distracting him and forcing his gaze once again on the man. Lestrange was now looking at him with a confused expression as if he had just said the most deranged thing on the planet. He must have thought the question was for him as Harry wouldn’t give a response. What an idiotic man. Voldemort felt a rage rush through him, how dare he interrupt his and Harry’s interactions.

“Rodolphus. I’ve heard enough. You can go.” He said and leaned once again back to his chair.

“Yes my Lord.”

The man stood up slowly and headed towards the large door. He went to open it when Voldemort decided to struck. His whole body started jolting as he came to his knees, screams of pain leaving his mouth. They sounded like beautiful music to the Dark Lord’s ears. After two minutes passed, he lifted the curse and watched as the old man flopped to the floor only to weakly stand up again, his body hunched and still shaking from the pain.

Voldemort allowed himself a grin as he watched his follower struggle to open the door and get out. As soon as the door closed he looked back at the chair close to the window only to find it empty. The grin on his face quickly fell and turned into a scowl. He was fully aware that Harry didn’t like watching him torturing his subjects, so it was obvious that he’d look away from the action but never leave the room completely.

He started looking around the room in case he had missed him, not seeing a glimpse of the boy. He hadn’t seen him exiting the room, but perhaps he was so focused on the other man that he didn’t catch the moment Harry fled the room. He was famous for being especially fast after all.

_Should I go fetch him?_ The Dark Lord thought as he went to stand from his desk but stopped when his eyes fell on a paper from the French Minister of Magic he had to have ready by tomorrow.

He decided to search for him later. He had a ton of paperwork to do and it’s not like the boy could go anywhere outside the wards he had up. If he wanted to stroll around the manor he could. The only danger he could face where his Death Eaters but it’s not like any of them were idiotic enough to try and harm the boy. They knew better than that.

A flash of black and grey curls that moved to the wind, red lips that had now lost their plumpness and a piercing cackling laugh passed his mind and he found himself frowning. Bella, though not stupid, was obsessed enough to attack whoever her lord considered close to him. He had to keep Harry safe from the witch. As she got older she became more and more terrifying.

**_“Nagini.”_ **

The low hissing of the creature’s name was all it needed to appear. She slithered closer to him, her black and green scales glistening from the light that was coming from the window. She settled herself around his feet, her neck and head resting on his knee. A pair of eyes with slit irises, much like his met his gaze.

**_“Yes Master?”_** her hiss was soft, the sound meant to only reach his ears.

**_“I need you to go look after my precious toy. I am afraid he started wandering alone in the manor again.”_**  He said, his hands holding and stroking his pet’s rough scales, much to her pleasure. Nagini stared at him for a minute before unwrapping herself from his leg and colliding with the floor. Her Master had some very funny requests sometimes, but she couldn’t say no to him.  She loved and respected him too much.

So instead of questioning him like that idiotic two-legged had done, she bowed her small head to him, hissed happily her reply, ** _“Yes Master.”_** and left the room in search of her Master’s precious toy.

Pleased with himself, the Dark Lord watched his familiar leave the room through the tunnels he had specifically made for her, so she could move freely in the manor. It really wasn’t the first time he had asked her to look after Harry. After all he was a busy man, he couldn’t always be there for the boy. And speaking of busy …

He really needed to get these documents done.

                                                                                                               _______________

It was close to midnight when he was finally finished with his work schedule. After managing his paperwork he attended a meeting at the ministry about the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, which after the war was completely under his rule. Most things had stayed the same with only a minor changes that of course would only benefit the school and magical education as a whole.

The meeting passed too slowly for his liking. A waste of his time would be a too polite term to describe what that meeting was to him. Even though he immensely cared for the school that both he and his precious considered home, he found the company of the woman who would take on the position as head of the school simply unbearable. From her atrocious pink outfits to her annoyingly high laugh and her clearing throat problem the woman was a nightmare from head to toe.

He had considered killing Dolores Umbridge countless times but since she was loyal to him and a firm believer of his ideas and the new regime he failed to find any action of her’s that displeased him enough to kill. He had of course planned for Harry to do the honors of killing her, a little present for his precious boy to get the revenge he deserved but after the incident that left him in a comatose state , he had turned too weak to even hold a dagger much less a wand. He was incapable of murder, something that deeply disappointed the Dark Lord. The only thing he could wait for was her death by physical causes.

The green flames died down as he stepped out of the fireplace that was located in his private chambers. The floo network was still in need of some adjustments but now he was too tired to think. Though immortal in soul, his mortal body, even though faster and stronger than a normal one, still gave out signs of exhaustion that caused him to add to his schedule a few hours of sleep.

He’d normally try to fix this weakness of his but really it was just another excuse for him to spend his nights with his precious curled up next to him. At first the boy had refused to go anywhere near him or the bed at night , so he had to force and bind him onto the bed, but after a few months he learned that it was better to just comply and follow through with the sleep schedule. Voldemort had found himself felling extreme amounts of joy whenever his chest touched the boy’s back, his arms wrapped tightly around the smaller figure.

By the end of the first week of sleeping with Harry he could tell when the boy was about to fall asleep or sleeping soundly only by his breathing. The blandness of everyday routine would leave his mind every time he wrapped his hands around him, feeling his soft skin and breathing in his scent as he brought their bodies closer together. Harry had never tried pushing him away. He knew it would only end with him or any of his remaining alive friends getting hurt. He instead would wrap his own hands around him, his head resting against Voldemort’s chest, letting the man kiss and caress his head, neck and lips till he was satisfied.

Harry knew how to please him, even though he refused to do so most of the time.

The Dark Lord took a turn to his right avoiding the brightly lit room at the end of the hall, where his bedroom was to instead walk into one of the side rooms where one of his favorite possessions was held. As he stepped into the dark room he noticed the figure of man standing in the middle of the large empty room. This room unlike the others in the manor had no furniture in it. The only thing existing in there was a portrait with a golden frame that reached from the top of the high ceiling to the floor.

The figure had his back turned on him, his full attention caught by the painting in front of him. Voldemort approached quietly but could tell the other had sensed his presence by the way his shoulders stiffened. No longer trying to lurk, the Dark Lord walked closer to the boy, one of his arms wrapping around the other’s waist before he could stop himself.

“Do you like it Harry? I think it’s beautiful.”

The boy of course didn’t respond but kept his gaze fixed on the painting, green dull eyes staring into green bright ones that were still filled with life. Voldemort loved the painting of his precious but nothing could beat the real thing he held into his arms. The boy in the painting gave him a smile before focusing his gaze back to Harry.

The Harry on the painting, even though identical to the real one, acted nothing like him. He would grant the Dark Lord with his sweet smiles and sit and listen to him talk about his day without interrupting or walking away. He’d still frown at the mention of muggles and muggleborns being killed but he wouldn’t talk back. Just like his real self the portrait of Harry Potter stayed mute not being able to speak any of his thoughts but only show them through facial expressions on his beautiful face.

He had ordered the painter to give Harry a dark green shirt to wear and bring out his eyes, while also wearing the signature color of Salazar so whoever looked at it knew who the boy belonged to. He truly looked beautiful in it. Voldemort had spent weeks staring at the portrait when it was first created. Not being able to take his eyes away from it. Just like now.

His admiration was cut short as he felt a sudden movement from somewhere close to his chest, his hand being pushed away and loud steps walking or more accurately running away. It only took him a few seconds to realize that Harry had fled from his arms. Honestly he couldn’t even admire a painting without his precious causing a ruckus. He started following the sound of the steps, not surprised when they led him straight to the main bedroom, _their_ bedroom.

Harry was seated on his side of the bed, the light from the moon making his usually dark sun-kissed skin appearing paler, his white shirt seeming a bit too big for him. Had he been losing weight again? He seemed smaller each time the Dark Lord saw him.

Voldemort walked towards the bed, getting rid of his heavy robes on the way, staying with only a black shirt and trousers. He made a move to sit next to Harry but decided against it, staying on his side seemed like the wisest choice to make. He sprawled on the bed, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass before turning to face Harry. They both needed to go to sleep and he couldn’t wait to have the boy wrapped around him again

As he was about to talk a voice he hadn’t heard in almost twenty years made him choke on his words and jump up in the bed.

“Voldemort.”

He had almost forgotten how sweet Harry’s voice sounded. The same voice that called out his name so many times, by anger, hatred, desperation…lust. He had missed it. The name he had so carefully made for himself sounded perfect coming from the lips of his precious.

“You need to stop. You are becoming obsessed.”  His boy said, his voice full of an emotion that he couldn’t exactly pin down. But he didn’t care about that now. He moved closer to him, his pale hand grasping the others.

“Harry… it has been far too long since I heard your voice… I am so glad you came back to me my precious.”

Harry turned his face towards him, his sad gaze meeting Voldemort’s gaze of desperation. The expression he wore was so sad the Dark Lord was sure he would begin to cry in a bit. He used his free hand to capture Harry’s cheek in it.

“You don’t understand. You need to let go. It’s been too long.”

“I understand plenty boy, there is no need to worry about time. We have all the time we need. All you have to do is be here with me.”

Harry shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. 

“You are living in a dream Tom. I am no longer beside you. Haven’t been for a long time now. You need to let me go.”  Small trembling hands reached to the place themselves on top of the one that was currently holding Harry’s head. His precious looked at him, a sweet smile on his lips, his eyes full of tears that had started to fall.

“Forget about me Tom.”

The only thing that could be heard into the night were his screams as his precious disappeared and melted away from him leaving behind only emptiness.

                                                                                                              _________________

_Epilogue:_

The news said it everywhere. It was the day the Wizarding World had lost all hope. The day The Boy Who Lived had died.

Many say the Dark Lord decided to finally kill him after keeping him around for four years, others said he committed suicide, no longer capable of being by the Dark Lord’s side. Only the Inner Circle of Death Eaters knew the truth and the consequences that death had brought to their master. The boy had collapsed when he had learned about his friends deaths and never woke up again. The healers said he died of a broken heart. That’s what they told their Lord before he extinguished them all.

The news of his precious treasure being dead, drove the already insane man deeper into insanity. For a whole year he had made himself believe that the boy was just comatose, that he would wake up again. After that year passed he had ordered a painter to create the painting of a Harry Potter no one knew or recognized. The boy in the fake painting acted exactly like how their Master would like him to act, completely dismissing the actual traits of Harry Potter’s character. Their lord spent hours in front of the portrait, talking to it without getting any reply. It would still move like the other portraits but never speak.

After a few more months they noticed their Master had stopped grieving, and was back to his old self. No one dared to question what changed as it was made obvious to them a few days later. Their Master would often be found talking to thin air, petting the air and even making crazy requests to his Death Eaters, like guarding, feeding and taking care of a person that was long dead. They couldn’t find it in themselves to defy his words, too scared to face his wrath.

Harry James Potter had been dead to the public for over 26 years now.

To Voldemort, he had died just yesterday.

**Author's Note:**

> ....and that was the end! That was a bit of a rushed short fic, but I needed more Harrymort in my life. Hope you liked it! Your kudos and comments are much appreciated and always manage to brighten my day!
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this work.


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